


A Watson, Through and Through

by blueink3



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John is lovely, M/M, Sherlock is insecure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7180568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you adopt?” she asks and it takes a moment of dawning horror to see her gaze flit between the two of them. </p><p>He and John. </p><p>Oh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Watson, Through and Through

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Assuming the baby is real, how likely do you think it is we'll get someone mistaking Sherlock AND John for being the parents? Like a; "Aww, you look like such a cute family! Did you adopt?" question thrown to them while Mary is out of sight. XD How do you think they will react?

“No, Sherlock, put the biscuits down.” 

“We need biscuits.” 

“No, you have three different types of biscuits already in the cupboard. Don’t think I didn’t look,” John replies, and Sherlock tries not to linger on the painfully glaring switch from “we” to “you.” 

He wants to retort that he’s a grown man and capable of purchasing anything he damn well pleases, thank you very much, but then John looks at him in that utterly _John_ way, saying “Someone has to make sure you eat your fruits and veg” and the fight just goes out of him. 

He makes sure to grumble as he puts the package back on the shelf and grabs a can of protein-enriched organic beans, though. 

“Remind me why you’re helping me shop?” 

John smiles as he adjusts the straps on his shoulder, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby strapped to his front. “You’ve got nothing on and I wasn’t about to bring her to the morgue. It was shopping or Cluedo.” He grins and runs a careful hand over her hat-covered head. “Besides, she sleeps better like this. Don’t ask me why.” 

“You’re incredibly comfortable,” Sherlock blurts out, remembering a time long ago after a particularly draining case when his transport betrayed him and he passed out on the couch, head falling sideways to land on John’s shoulder. He woke hours later, somehow having moved to his lap, blinking up to find John casually reading a book and seemingly not minding at all that Sherlock was using him as a makeshift pillow. 

“Comfortable, you say?” John asks, eyebrow arched. “I can’t tell if that’s a dig at my paunchy middle or not.”

Sherlock makes a show of rolling his eyes, but mutters a “Decidedly not” as he turns, distracting himself by glancing at the nearest nutrition label. It’s only at John’s chuckle that he realizes he’s holding a vitamin smoothie for women over 50. 

“Beautiful child you have,” a voice comes from their right and Sherlock turns to find a woman not far off the target age range for said smoothie. She’s cooing at the baby in a way that Sherlock usually finds tedious, except when he himself does it. And he does, because despite all of his calculations (and there have been _many_ ) this tiny human that shares John Watson’s biology has him absolutely wrapped around her finger. 

Perhaps not all that surprising, after all. 

“Did you adopt?” she asks and it takes a moment of dawning horror to see her gaze flit between the two of them. 

He and John. 

Oh. 

She thinks - 

_Oh._

John will fix this. John will correct her. John, with his marriage and his flat and his wedding ring and his firmly stated heterosexuality, he will make sure this woman leaves this Tesco knowing what’s -  

“Yeah, we did,” John replies and Sherlock’s jaw positively _drops_. 

The woman’s gaze finds his ( _56, new grandmother_ ) and she quietly clasps her hands together. “Well, she’s just precious.” 

“Ta very much,” John grins, leaning down and brushing his nose against the baby’s head. A habit, Sherlock has noticed. “We’re quite fond of her.” 

“Have a good day,” the woman replies before turning and heading towards the checkout. 

“Coming?” John asks lightly, as if he hasn’t just tilted the very axis Sherlock’s earth rotates on. 

“You didn’t correct her.” 

“Sorry?” 

“She assumed we were together, she assumed I was the father. The other father - ” He’s thinking of a million assumptions that people have made about him and about their relationship, but in this moment, John’s soft smile refutes every single one. 

“Just easier, I guess. Than explaining. Did it bother you?”

Sherlock wants to shout “NO” from the rooftops with a bullhorn, wants to put out a press release, wants Mycroft to get the RAF to write it in the bloody sky, but all he can do is shake his head and watch as John’s soft smile grows. 

“Good. Come on, then. We’re missing the Doctor Who marathon.” 

Sherlock can’t even mock him for his telly choices. Not when a world exists where someone assumes that they are a family and all parties seem… absolutely fine with it. More than fine, actually. 

Sherlock allows himself a smile and lifts his finger up to the baby’s hand, passing over her soft skin and tiny knuckles. She grips it fiercely, even in sleep. A Watson through and through. 

He hears John audibly swallow next to him, but neither of them comments on it. 

But when they pass by aisle three once more, John puts Sherlock’s desired biscuits in the basket without another word. 


End file.
